Thirst for Revenge
by Sareya
Summary: A typical Crow story, the unfortunate murder of a young man literally in the prime of his life, and his search for vengeance. His search is disrupted, however, by one of his prey's family, who doesn't take his killing sitting down.
1. In the Beginning

**Disclaimer**: While I have not used any of the original characters from the movie 'The Crow' or any of it's sequals or spin-off tv series', I feel need only to 'unclaim' the entire Crow concept, though that might not be a creation of the writers of the Crow. For all I know, it could be an actual belief. Either way, it's not mine. ^_^  
___

It seemed the golden Lady of Luck was finally shining her bright smile upon the life and finances of Jace Sheldon. Business was on a steady incline, his budget secured for the next three months for the first time in what felt like ages. With such good news, he decided that for once, he would be clear to accept an invitation extended by his three 'long-lost' college buddies to throw back a few at the local sports bar. Mark had called only that morning to say that he, Eric, and Brandon had finally all received a weekend off of work at the same time, and to find out whether or not Jace had gotten the same good fortune. 

The falling night found Jace and his good friends kicking back, catching up on old times, and of course, ogling the pretty girls that happened by their table. All in good fun, of course. Jace couldn't help but realize all that those desperate hours of overtime had caused him to miss. Mark had gotten engaged, Eric and his wife were two months along now with their second baby, and Brandon…Well…Brandon was still, as usual, Brandon. An aspiring singer, he was always one of the first to hop onto the karaoke stage, and not even his three closest friends could convince him of the fact that he couldn't carry a tune in a five gallon bucket. But he was always given an 'A' for effort. 

Jace took his time, relaxing, drinking, and catching up. Leaning back in his chair, dangerously close to tipping over, he crossed his arms over his chest and began his contemplation. At 23, he felt he was doing damn good to be an executive for a fast pasted, flourishing web design company. The problem was, with business so booming, it left him without much time for socializing, what with the need for sleep and all. And so, for the first time in over a month, here he sat with his three close friends, all of whom he'd met while in college. They'd studied together, watched Monday Night Football together, cheering on the Raiders with a vengeance.

Two o'clock came much too quickly for the four good friends, and so as the bouncers were hurriedly ushering people out the door, they shouted plans to meet at Mark's place, where they would most likely throw back a few more beers before crashing. Brandon and Jace walked together on their way to Jace's car. Brandon had bummed a ride because his own truck was losing the clutch quickly. While normally there was quite a bit of bustling in the alley at bar close, but because the four friends had hung around and made plans, the alley was now rather quiet. Alarm bells went off in Jace's head, however, as he spotted a group of people huddled near the back of his car, looking rather lonely all alone in the empty, meager parking lot. Deciding the best course of action would be to completely ignore them, he glances to Brandon, relaying his silent message with a glance. Brandon, while not a singer, was most definately perceptive, and nodded in silent understanding.

Head down, hands in pockets, the pair moved quickly toward the little red Chevalier, before Jace finally gained his confidence and squared his shoulders. Glancing quickly to his friend, Brandon soon followed suit, not wishing to appear an easy target for a mugging. Key out, ready to unlock the door, Jace halted rather suddenly, arm swinging to his side to stop Brandon as well. He'd not seen it before his car in the dim light, but standing just infront of the driver's door were three more hooded figures, their backs to the two friends. It seemed just as Jace and Brandon noticed the car thieves, the group of people near Jace's trunk all turned simultaneously towards them.

**Oh...Shit.** Jace's words were muttered under his breath, mind quickly flashing through all the possible actions and reactions that could get both of them out of this rather intimidating situation alive. A rough, tall, burly man stepped forward from the group, his eyes flashing devilishly in the low light shed by the weak street lamp above. Jace caught a strong wiff of weed, mixed perhaps with alcohol. Jace was no drug dealer, but he could recognize that raunchy scent anywhere. His father had been quite the druggie, one of the main reasons Jace remained decidedly clean. He also well knew that the mix of alcohol and THC could produce an angry, drunk man about to do some stupid things. What worried Jace was the fact that he and Brandon were now mixed up in this whole scheme. _Screw the car...Hell, they can have whatever they find!_ His thoughts were interrupted by the rough, cracking voice of the leader of their antagonists. **Well, well, well...Y'know, I was sure hopin' that ya wouldn't be stupid enough to come this close...I'm guessin' now we'll just have t' get rid of ya. Didn't wanna, but now...We'll just enjoy it, eh, boys?** The man's voice alerted the car thieves, who had obviously been intently concentrating on their work. There was a murmer of agreement from the group as they all began moving quickly towards the pair. Jace quickly judged there were approximately ten in the group, plus the three at his car. A shuffling of footsteps behind them, and Brandon quickly, quietly warned Jace of two more behind them. _Damn...These guys were prepared!_

Surrounded now, Jace threw up his hands in a light gesture of surrender. His words came out clear and smooth as he attempted to sound familiar, 'cool'. **Aw, hey guys, no harm done! Me 'n' this guy here can just walk the other way, turn the other cheek, eh? And say, we'll even give ye a time when I'll come back to see if the car's still here, how's bout that? An hour sound like enough time to break in and get whatever you feel you need?** _God, I sound like an idiot._ Obviously, the gang thought he did too. Chortles of laughter could be heard, as well as a deep chuckle from the leader himself. The car thieves, now confident that their back was covered, went back to work, right infront of the car's owner. Jace found this just a bit ridiculous, but didn't get much time to deliberate, for once more, the group closed in. Jace was shoved forward from behind, and Brandon was thrown away as four of the hoodlums surrounded each now. 

**Hey-** Jace protested as a quickly-swung leg and a shove to his shoulder took his feet from under him. Landing with a grunt on the hard ground, cringing as a sharp pain moved up from his side, he quickly rolled over onto his back, hands bracing themselves above his head. Rolling onto his back, feet in the air, he shouted a snarl as he flung his body upward, pushing himself to a stand. Now angry, he crouched, hands relaxed even as they fisted. Two of his antagonists took a quick step back, rather surprised that someone would actually attempt to fight them off. It was, in all actuality, a stupid move, but what was he to do? Take the beating lying down? Never! A momentary sideways glance told him that Brandon was doing the same thing, and losing. One of his surrounders stepped towards him, nodding towards Brandon with a sneer as the leader leveled a handgun at his head. **Your friend's stupid. And for it, he'll die. You want to die, too? Keep it coming.** _Damn it, why does this have to happen now??_ Jace backed off once more, hands in the air. Colliding with one of the men, he reacted quickly and attempted to turn and deliver a jab to his enemy's nose. A flash of red pain moved before Jace's eyes, and before he could complete the move, he was on his knees. Another jab of pain shot up his spine, and for a moment, his mind whirled blank. He couldn't figure out where the pain was coming from until he realized he was gripping his calf. He'd been shot. He'd not even heard the gun go off. Eyes wild with fear and desperation moved to the leader, whose gun still smoked from the blast. The sadistic son of a bitch was smirking, his eyes saying all, even in the dim light. Still holding his leg, Jace rolled over, catching a glimpse of Brandon out of the corner of his eye. He, too, was on the ground, laying in a pool of his own blood, his murderers standing over him looking at a job well done. _Damn it all to hell...Damn it all._ Why now? Why, when things were just begining to go his way, when he was reaching the prime of his young life? Just as the gun was again pointed, this time toward his head, he swore to them through gritted teeth that this crime would not go unpenalized. Though he thought it was an empty promise, it was a threat well made. **Wait!** One of the car thieves had apparently not been concentrating too hard on his job. His hand moved quickly under the leader's, moving the gun upwards. **Wait, c'mon, Stryke. Do we really want this on our hands? Hell, grand theft auto is bad enough.** Stryke delivered nothing but a snarl his way as again the gun was reaimed. Shadows took over Jace's mind as he heard the shot. 


	2. Kari

A flash of red pain, and the young woman hit the ground hard. A moment later, she was again on herfeet, throwing a snarl at the older man who'd gotten the hit. Dancing lightly from one foot to the other, hands and arms loose yet on guard, she spotted his next attack in the coming. She ducked the jab at her head, lifting one arm to block and raise her opponent's attacking arm, while using two fingers of her free hand in an attempt to jam them into the now-unprotected underarm. He saw this coming, though, and easily blocked with his free hand. Ironically, the girl had expected this, and so used his minor lack of balance against him. Without a moment's hesitation, she grabbed his previously blocked, raised arm, simultaneously latching hold of the hand that he'd used to block her two fingers. Her eyes flashed dangerously as she swung a leg around his and swept him from his feet, forcing her weight to follow. As they landed, her knee hit the ground just below his groin, her elbow painfully dropping decidedly beside his neck, and her two now-free fingers stopped falling just a fraction of an inch above his wide, rather surprised eyes. A snap of her fingers, and she was on her feet once more, offering the fallen man a hand.   
  
With a grin, Sakui Tsinacci accepted the prooffered hand and allowed her to boost him to a stand. His opponent and student, Kari Ritker, allowed herself only a momentary glance of triumphant pride before grabbing two small towels thrown carelessly over a bar to her right and handing one to Sakui himself. The respected instructor accepted the towel, and after a moment, cleared his throat. Both kneeled simultaneously upon the blue-gray padded spar floor, facing each other.   
  
**Kari, you did well. You have learned quickly all that I have to teach you. Now it is up to you to learn what you need to find what you seek. Only you can choose your next path.**   
  
A calm, thoughtful silence fell as Kari chose her next words carefully. Sakui thrived and believed in always having a plan of action. How to tell him now that she only wished to rest, to settle, and learn the basics of a 'normal' life before continuing in her search. It was a plan, but one she doubted Sakui would approve of. It was certain that he would not try to stop her, but he had earned her respect in such a way that she strove to please him. How to tell him now that she wished to remain in Richmond, close enough to San Fransisco, yet far enough so that she felt safe at night. There was no immediate need to move to the large city, and she'd yet to find and lead the normal life that she now sought.   
  
**Understood, Teacher. My quest for peace has only begun, and I wish now to settle into a way of life before seeking more.**   
  
Sakui nodded, having already known the answer she would give. Though it went largely against his own personal way of life to rest when one was on a quest, he knew that in resting, Kari would find a small portion of the peace she sought. The recovery from the life she had left behind had been amazingly quick, even for the time she'd spent with the Performers. It was known by both of them, though, that she had a long way to go, much more growing to do, before everything she'd escaped could be put completely behind her.   
  
He remembered the nervous, cornered wildcat who'd come knocking on his door, seeking instruction in the ways of self-discipline, respect, and the Martial Arts. She'd told him everything then, of the mother who's very existance depended upon alcohol, the father who constantly reminded her of the mistake she was and always would be. The biggest disappointment hadn't been either of those, however. Her heartbreak was being abandoned by her twin brother, who'd left when they were fifteen years old, promising to return within the year to take her away from the horrors they'd survived for this long. She'd waited for two years for him before deciding that she had to take her life into her own hands. Desperation found her a place amongst a group of friendly, travelling circus performers. It was with them that her skills as an acrobat developed and blossomed, but she'd known from the start that she wouldn't be remaining with them long. As soon as she'd raised the money, she began her training under Sakui during the off-season months. When it came time for the performers, who Kari then knew as her family, to leave and begin another half-year of work, she remained behind and flourished under two rigorous years of training. Now, she would settle until they again returned to Richmond, and once more, she would join them. Until then, she would find stability and a bit of the peace of mind she so desired.   
  
Not an hour later, Kari stepped into her upper-level apartment, reaching immediately for the remote control with one hand, her other still grasping an end of the towel that was thrown over her slender shoulders. Ignoring the droning voice of the six-o'clock news announcer as he popped on the TV screen with a click, she set about making dinner for herself, the usual pasta salad. With a book in her hand, she collapsed on the couch, exhausted still from the final spar with her former teacher and the run from his studio to her home. Focused now on a tale spinning from the words she read that took form in her mind, she paind little head when the 'headline news' music played and the male newscaster appeared. His voice was calm, though she could easily hear the urgent, alarmed tinge beneath his tone, and it was those that made her glance up, raising an inquisitive brow.   
  
_...Of the downtown San Fransisco area may be sleeping with their lights on tonight as the murderers of two young men have yet to be found. The names of the victims have not been released, as the families have yet to be informed. No suspects have yet been located, the only remaining clues are the two handgun shells found near the first victim's body. It appears that the second victim was beaten to death, while his companion was, of course, shot. Stick wtih channel 16 news, we will keep you up to date._   
  
Kari stared openmouthed as the newcastor disappeared, replaced by a happy set of cats meowing for a can of moist catfood. Shaking her head slowly, her eyes returned to the book, forbidding herself to think on it any longer, though she had some difficulty.   
  
Kris had gone to San Fransisco. He'd heard there was work for him in that large city, even at his young age. How could he have forgotten? What if he hadn't? what if he'd died somewhere, like those poor guys on the news? Or what if he'd got himself a real job, a real home, a real life, and wanted nothing more to do with her and the life he'd left behind all those years ago?   
  
_Kari...I'll come back, I promise. Together, we'll rule the world!_   
  
They'd had such high hopes. She wondered if he'd nknown all along that they were only the dreams of two very hurt children, wanting nothing more than to feel like themselves, like humans.


	3. Squelched Guilt

Kris had been pacing all night. The others could hardly sleep, what with the old, wooden boards creaking underfoot constatnly. But they made no complaint, only patted his shoulder on the way to bed and told him that it wouldn't be the last. Stryke had chosen this particular hideout, and to tell Kris to stop pacing, to stop recovering from what he'd just seen, would have been an insult to Stryke's judgement. And none, not even Kris at this point, felt like being Stryke's next victim. They'd all watched it on the news that night, how there had been no clues, save the bullet shells. The guys had patience, he had to give them that. Now that they were in the clear, they'd relaxed, and taken Kris' pacing in stride. They'd all had their own ways of dealing with this new way of life, dealing with what they refered to as 'Pickups and Shootdowns'. They knew that as it had with each of them, Kris' anxiety would pass, and he would just be another soulless, guiltless murdering machine. It was only a matter of time.   
  
Or so all but one thought.   
  
Kris had never come face to face with his choices, his motives, his life, _himself_ as he was now. What the hell was he doing here? What had he just done, allowed to happen with little more than a spoken protest? Even that small protest had cost him, as the sneer, the degrading, disappointed glare Stryke hade given him cut him to the core. He'd come to respect his leader, wanted his respect and trust in return. He wouldn't have it now. Not for a good, long while. But was that what he really wanted? The mutual respect of one who'd turned out to be little more than a common street thug? No...Stryke was no common street thug. Not only did he know every law surrounding those his gang broke every day, but he could have been their lawyers for all he had learned. He certainly wasn't their leader for nothing. He could break into any vehicle, anywhere. Hell, he could unlock a door without a key while two blue-coats watched, and they'd not suspect a thing. A smooth-talker he was, his brains making up for his lack of heart.   
  
Shaking his head, he shoved his hands farther into his pocket as he paused by a poorly-boarded window, suddenly bathed in split moonlight. _Ah, hell._ Why now, did he have to think of his sister? He had enough problems. He'd gotten nowhere since he'd left her behind almost nine years ago. Pride forbade him to return before it was too late, and now he couldn't even be sure of where she was. If she was even alive in the first place, she would hate him. Hate what he was, the punk kid who'd left her behind, and hate what he had become, a coward. There was no use going to find her. If she was alive, she'd be doing a whole hell of a lot better than he was.   
  
**Gunner.**   
  
The voice from the darkness drew his attention, though he'd barely had time to become suited to the name given to him by Stryke, the name that the others could shout out and not have to worry about identifying Kristofer Ritker. As he turned to look over his shoulder, Stryke stepped into the light, his eyes hard. Arms crossed over his chest, he paced as well, just a few feet infront of Kris himself. He was obviously in deliberation of what exactly needed to be said. Finally, he paused, sucked in a breath, and began.   
  
**Ya need ta git used t' it. Happens a lot. Can y'handle it, or what?**;   
  
Taking advantage of the fact that his face was shadowed, Kris rolled his eyes. Shaking his head mildly for a moment before again looking to his leader, he nodded.   
  
**Yea. Time's all I need. B'fore y'know it, Stryke, I'll be killin'em myself. Just gimme time.**   
  
**How much time? We needja back in full operatin' order.**   
  
**Soon, Stryke.**  
  
He seemed to accept this answer, disappearing an instant later, leaving Kris once again to his thoughts. Leaning against the windowsill, he scowled. This wasn't where he was supposed to be. He'd left home at the bright, starry-eyed age of fifteen, confident that the mechanic's job he'd been offered would see him through so that he could eventually go to college, and get set up with an apartment and a car. Now, at twenty-two, he had nothing but a gang of car thieves. He could never bring Kari into this, he'd been stupid enough to get himself into it. Now he was an accomplice to a murder. And he'd just told his leader that soon, he'd be killing two. What the hell had he been thinking?  
  
He'd been desperate a week ago, when the others first caught him thieving a car on 'their' grounds. At first, stryke was more than willing to beat him out of the area. But when he saw the speed and ease with which Kris worked, the leader had offered him a proposal that he couldn't refuse. Join up, or face a bullet to the temple. Without much hesitation, as Kris had seen more into the offer than Stryke had first proposed, he joined. He knew with a sickening, growing dread in the gut of his stomach that his promise to Stryke had been true. However selfish it was, if it kept him fed, alive, and out of jail, he would kill.  
  
His thoughts moved unwillingly to Kari once more, as well as the promise he'd made to her so long ago. She'd hate him for this, but after a few moments of careful thought, he realized that he could no logner care. He had his own life to live, and she now had hers. They had to move on. His promise to her, he now knew, would remain broken and empty. Shaking his head slowly, he made his way through the old, rickety house and headed to bed. 


	4. The Reawakening

Many thanks to 'Persia' and 'Tanuki', who graciously assisted me in making this chapter flow much more smoothly than it would have had I not had their assistance.

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_Exactly one year after the murder of Jace Sheldon and Brandon Clay._

The night was silent, cold, and moist from a recent misting rain. Covering a sloping hill, the cemetery was empty, save for the smaller critters who found sanctuary in the peaceful serenity of the holy grounds. A crow perched on one protruding stone, shadows making its dark form all but invisible. Clouds parted, bathing the bird in milky moonlight, and there was the sound of flapping wings as the dark creature rose from the stone, flying towards another perch. He alighted on a nearby tree, one that stood guard over the grave. Beady eyes appeared to burn as the crow's wings remained loosely held, beak open with a silent caw. The wet soil began to move, to inch apart as the bird watched on, unperturbed. Moments later, a disoriented, dirty young man lay, coughing and attempting to gather himself. Where was he? What was he doing here? His eyes moved to the gravestone, and upon reading it, he stared, openmouthed, unbelieving. 

_Jace Sheldon  
June 14th, 1979-August 30th, 2003_

A light rain began to descend from the heavens, as though the Great Ones themselves were crying for Jace's newfound pain and confusion. Wet hair became plastered against his face as slender fingers grazed over the etched letters of his name. His eyes slammed shut and he jerked visibly, a sharp gasp taken in as a series of flashes overcame his mind. Nearly stumbling backward from the shock, he was forced to momentarily relive certain areas of his life.

_The young man stands proudly before the gathering of coworkers as his boss delivers the words of his recent promotion, as well as a speech commending the employee's excellent work under his company. The others look on, expressions of congratulations on their faces, tinted with just the lightest bit of harmless, natural jealousy. As the speech closes, mild applause echoes throughout the employee lounge, dying down as Jace himself steps forward to give a word of grateful acceptance. Nervous pride._

Blackness. Another flash.

_He sits now at a table, the odors of alcohol and tobacco thick as clouds. Nearly choking, but somehow, the young men surrounding that table are able to ignore the intrusive stenches as they chat, their conversation light as they catch up on old times. Enjoying themselves, friendship again found where it had once been lost to time. Finding out what one had missed through the years of being separated, estranged, the pregnancy of one friend's wife, the engagement of another. The feeling of regret, yet at the same time, elated that now he could be with them once more through these times of change. Pride brimming as he tells of his prestigious promotion._

More blackness, confusing emptiness. One last, anger-inducing flash.

_Fear choking as the gun was pointed toward his head. Eyes moving wildly to the one who attempted to intercede, yet failed. A vast resentment for the man, the one who will go on to live, to breath, when the young man himself could no longer. Blinding pain as the bullet shot rang, echoing through his mind. Gazing through sightless eyes as his body landed with a thud, staring now at his beaten, bloody friend. Remorse, guilt, anger, rage…Blinding rage. _

And finally they stopped, Jace Sheldon's eyes blinking as he fought to gain control of himself and the fierce bloodlust that resulted in a yell, a roar of defiance, of bitter anger. It was then that the face of the man began to adopt a lighter shade, turning to a murky white, and black marks etched themselves over his mouth and eyes. As the echoing silence once again fell over the cemetery, the crow lifted it's wings and finally landed upon the man's dirty shoulder. Talons digging through even the thickness of the old, now-ragged suit that the Crow wore, the bird closed it's eyes and delivered to Jace one final flash.

_Only moments after the life had slowly left the fallen Jace's body. The bird watches from his perch upon a telephone wire, head tilting to the sound of sirens. Bustling, hurried steps leave the alley as the thieves are eager to avoid any confrontation with the police. A drifting flight lands the crow atop the back of the body, laying face-down on the dirty tar. For a moment, the bird jumps around, appearing to explore, taking in the scene surrounding. A car, lights flashing, pulls up to the two lone bodies. _

The final flash. The farewell to a life left behind. The greeting to an existence driven only by revenge. Standing to his feet, Jace Sheldon swore silently that those who were responsible for his death will meet their own. Kicking a good portion of the disturbed dirt aside, he stood back, hands on his hips, surveying his work for a moment before he was finally satisfied. The bird was ignored as he made his way slowly to the exit of the cemetery, the need to 'clean up' foremost in his mind. 


	5. First Kills

The raven was growing restless. It had been a week since he'd been sent to fetch the soul of Jace Sheldon and place it back where it belonged; His body. Jace had spent the time reading the newspapers, finding his old haunts, and preparing. But preparations were nearly complete. With the mastering of his newfound strength and abilities, he was as hungry for revenge as the moment he'd first thrown himself from the dirt. Dark, hard days were ahead for both of them. It was time. 

The bird stood at the open window of an old apartment, in a nearly abandoned building Jace had found his home in when he'd first started college all those years ago. The doors were left unlocked, for he was no longer in Chicago...No, he'd wandered to a suburb, a small one, familiar ground. The only tenant within the ten apartments was an old, nearly senile man who required 24 hour care. The woman who came to care for him was his daughter, an older woman in her late forties. They paid each other no mind, for Jace kept himself well hidden when she was around. As Jace silently entered the apartment, the crow regarded him in a stony silence for a moment, then tested his wings and flew to alight upon his shoulder. Another moment, and once again, he was gone. There was work to be done.

Not two hours later, man and bird stood atop an aging building that housed an apartment and a sports bar, one that was oh so fresh in his memories. The place stank of alchohol and tobacco, and he wasn't even inside yet. He had a while to wait, a while to stew over the memories of the fateful night he lost his life. **Damn them**, he cursed mentally, feeling the pull of the crow's mentality within his mind as he did so. **Damn them all to Hell, when I send them there. How many others has there been? How many lives?** **_Enough_**, came the silent reply of the crow, flapping his wings in anticipation and perhaps a touch of agitation. **_The moment draws near when you will see them again. The memories will come, and they will be harsh. You must be ready._**

Sure enough, within the hour, a confident mass of man began his stride out of the bar, followed by a handful of his goons. Had the man not lifted his face toward the streetlight, Jace might have missed him completely. And as the bird predicted, he grew suddenly nauseous, choked with the memories that flooded back, of that sneer, that curled lip, those deadly words. He recovered quickly enough, however, to follow them down the street as they bantered loudly between themselves, telling lewd jokes and harassing passersby. They were tough, well known, and they knew it. People crossed to the other side of the street to avoid them. Their leader took it with disgusting pride, sending glares that would bring chills to any giant of a man. Jace cracked his neck. It was now or never.

He leaped from the top of the building into an alley, abandoned and empty save a few large dumpsters. Landing with an unnatural grace in a crouch, he stood quickly and waited the bird. But no, the crow would stay above, to watch his back. He nodded silently, and began walking. He followed them for a few blocks, watched as three of the goons said their goodbyes before parting paths. Jace's hands tightened their grips on the pair of daggars he'd obtained three days ago. For three solid days, without rest, he'd trained himself, and was now quick as a whip with them, moving with blinding speed as he thrust and leaped at invisible opponents, his thirst for revenge all-consuming. He sneered now, watching unseen and unknown. He had a choice to make then, and he made it swiftly. He would pick them off slowly, their leader would be the last to fall. Silently, he followed the three who'd parted ways with the main gang.

They crossed through an alley, empty save one soul who walked hurriedly, obviously uncomfortable as she walked, unescorted, through a deadly part of the neighborhood. Stupid was Jace's thought as he followed them, still undetected. He resisted the urge to growl as one of the men gave a low, approving whistle, and the female stiffened, clutching her purse strap. The reflection of silver in the keys that she carried fisted in her hands caught his eye, perhaps she wasn't as dumb as he'd first thought. At least she carried some form of protection. As they passed her, the whistler reached out with a quickness that was obviously trained to grab her upper arm. She leaped away from him like a stricken cat, shouting her protest. The man next to the whistler leaped after her, pinning her between himself and the brick wall of another building.

**Hush, little baby, don't say a word...Daddy's gonna buy you a mocking bird...**

His voice was low, his words reeking with mockery. He clamped his hand over her mouth, but she brought her fisted hand up and slashed him across the face with a key. He stepped back, cursing and holding his bleeding cheek. Whistler replaced him, being sure to pin her arm with his other hand as he covered her mouth once more.

**Now, now...That wasn't very nice, was it?**

She attempted to say something, but of course, whatever pointless threat she gave was muffled by his large, foul-smelling hand. Her struggles were just as useless, for he was far more powerful than she.iNow/i. p With a silence that seemed almost impossible, he approached the trio, swiftly delivering a knockout punch to the one who'd made no move to assist his friends before stepping up behind and sliding a daggar across the throat of the man who still held his cheek. This, Whistler heard, and stepped back from the woman as he turned to face Jace. He glanced down at his fallen friends, releasing a line of curses unfit for a sailor's ears.

**Who the hell are you??**

Jace cast a glance to the woman, she needed little prompting to make herself scarce. When she'd gone, he stepped forward, into the light of a street lamp, his pale face gleaming, the dark marks around his eyes and mouth forboding.

**I am everything you ever feared...Fucking murderer.**

His voice held an unnaturally icy tone to it, cold with death. The sound of the words sliced through Whistler, and he stepped back in a momentary fall of fear. Anger for his now dead friend took over, however, and he stepped forward once again, his eyes flashing.

**You'll pay for that, bastard. I'll fucking kill you.**

**I feel a sense of deja vu here...Hmmm...Why might that be?**

Jace's tone took on a sarcastic ring, it appeared he was enjoying himself. A groan lifted from behind him, the man he'd knocked out was awakening. He'd be out of commission long enough for Jace to do his work, however. He paid the man no mind, and kept his glare fixed on Whistler.

**I have a job for you, Shit-for-Brains. Tell your boss death will be his soon.**

Who the fu- His words were cut off as a flying, armed hand moved across his face and tore a gash from cheek to cheek. Again, he cursed, stumbling backwards and holding his face.

**Get out of here! Go! And do what I said!**

Whistler didn't hesitate. He moved off, forgetting the companion that still lived. Jace, however, did not. He turned on his heels and bent over, hauling the fallen man to his feet. Throwing him against a wall bathed in the dim light of a far-off streetlamp, his eyes widened as he stared into a sickeningly familiar face. His expression clouded over as the man before him cowered in fear, shielding his face with his arms.

It was the man who'd stepped infront of him on the night of the murder. The one who'd attempted to stop...Stryke, that was his name...from killing him. Jace sneered down at him, tearing the man's hands away.

**How many more? How many were there after me?**

**Wh-what?? I...I don't know what you're talking about! **Kris..._Gunner_... stared up at him in stark terror, still in shock.

That all too familiar voice was filled now with fear as he stared up at the death-clown.

**Outside Steve's Sports Pub...A year ago...Two men**...Jace stopped as recognition settled across the frozen features of the man before him. Jace grabbed him at the collar of his jacket and slammed him once again against the wall. **How many more??**

Gunner, who'd by now nearly forgotten the name given to him at birth, winced as pain shot up his back. His hand went automatically for his belt, where he held a .45 for just this occasion. Jace caught the movement, however, and reached for the gun himself, tossing it behind him like an old toy. _Shit_. He was going to die. His features hardened. He didn't care. He didn't give a Goddamned shit.

**As many as necessary**. His voice shook, betraying the calm that had entered his expression. Jace backhanded him. He pointed down the alley were the woman had dashed away.

**And she was just going to be another necessary, after you were finished with her?**

He backhanded Gunner again, this time with a bit more power.

**What the hell do you want?**

**You to feel this**. He placed his hands over Gunner's face, and all the pain, all the rage, all the fear slipped from him for two glorious moments...Slipped through him, and into the now screaming Gunner. He fell to his knees, but Jace still held on. Finally, he tore his hands away, watching as blood ran down Gunner's nose, ears and mouth. He gave a moan, lifted his head to stare blankly at his attacker, before falling face-down on the tar, dead before his head hit with a sickening thud.


End file.
